Family Buisness
by glaube
Summary: Ch 5! Aoshi and Misao have been separated for 5 years, but Misao, left in New York and now a successful reporter, will find her way to a conflict with Aoshi at its center..
1. When You Think About Me

Family Buisness

by glaube

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if you do...could I borrow them? *waves sign that says "will write for Aoshi"*

**Summary:** 1930-ish, New York and Japan. Since it's AU I'm sort of ignoring the war...and the depression...T_T; ignore the historical facts and just read the fic I swear it'll make sense eventually. Anyway.. Makimachi Misao, successful American Reporter, gets dragged into the realm of Japanese crime. Shinomori Aoshi, a figure from her past, is at the heart of the battle to restore justice in Japan --will Misao find him? Or are they both in over their heads? (the title will make sense eventually. Promise.)

**Chapter 1: When You Think About Me**

_And your eyes look so lonely  
But it's only when you think about me_

The dining hall was full of guests for some sort of party, noted Makimachi Misao as she stepped inside, dusting the travel-dust off of her khaki slacks. Okon would certainly be frustrated by the young woman's lack of feminine dress, but what could be expected? Misao was a successful reporter and had just gotten back from a big trip to the West. Arriving back in London was the end result of a long trip -- she didn't see the need in dressing up when travel was so uncomfortable to begin with anyway. She hoped to sneak out of the restaurant and up to her room in her grandfather's house, but Okon caught her first.

"Misao!" Cheered the woman sweetly, catching up to the travel-worn journalist. "You're a little underdressed for your Grandfather's party, aren't you? Better get upstairs and change! Okina will want to see you!"

Well; that was that. Misao refrained from rolling her eyes and headed out of the Aoiya, stepping out to her Grandfather's large mansion and quietly retreating to her room for a few moments of peace while she changed before one of the girls would come to get her.

At 25, Makimachi Misao had long surpassed her potential for beauty and developed into an outstandingly handsome young woman; despite the fact that she wore no makeup and wore her hair pulled back into the same braid she'd worn since a child. Still as spirited as ever, Misao had a quick intellect, sharpened by training in college, with fast instincts that made her a superb reporter. As such, it was easy for anyone to understand why successful Okina had installed her as a "right-hand woman" into almost all of his undertakings: first, the Aoiya, then his newspaper. Misao possessed a small, but lithe frame, and was often underestimated whenever she did go after leads. Most people learned quickly, however, that the little woman, as a descendant of the ancient Oniwabanshuu clan, was quick, lethal, and not to be messed with. She was, although she rarely tried to be, charming in a spirited, boyish sort of way, and many New Yorkers wondered why nobody had married the granddaughter of prominent Okina.

It wasn't because there weren't suitors. Anyone could tell you that Misao simply wasn't interested. And she hadn't been, since one Shinomori Aoshi left, right after she turned 20 and entered her second year of college.

A picture of him still sat on her dresser in her room, and Misao wondered if she was a fool for keeping it. Nobody'd heard from Shinomori Aoshi in five years -- like a true ninja, the man had simply disappeared. Thoughts of him tended to make her quiet, reserved; and she knew Okina would expect a cheerful, beaming, successful young lady, so she did her best to push Aoshi from her mind, changing out of her pants and into a long, floor-length blue dress. She let her hair out of it's braid, leaving it in the soft curls that were natural after its constraint in the tight line, falling in waves to slender hips, and then calmly headed back to the Aoiya. Okon and Omasu, she was sure, would do everything in their power to introduce her to all of society's gentlemen -- maybe she could stay mostly with Okina. He could be just as bad sometimes, but she knew he wouldn't bother her today.

Today. The five year anniversary of Aoshi's disappearance. Misao wondered if she'd made any progress since he'd left.

***

Across the globe, the subject of the young reporter's thoughts stood at the peak of a mountain, swiftly moving through the techniques of his Nitou-Ryu like the master he was. Aoshi Shinomori; Okashira.

At 27, Aoshi hadn't changed much in his five year absence, still the logical, calm man he had always been. Five years, and it seemed like eternity, in his life away from New York, living in a hidden temple deep in the mountains of Japan with the other members of the Oniwabanshuu.

Oh yes. The Ninja Clan still existed, despite Imperialist reforms, a powerful and silent group watching over Japan in secrecy, fighting for justice. Makimachi Misao's father had been the last Okashira, but at a young age both she and Aoshi had been sent to live with her grandfather, ex-Okashira Okina, to study and refine their skills.

Misao was an excellent fighter but it was Aoshi who held true talent, mastering the style at age fifteen. From that point on he worked closely with Misao to develop her skill with kunai; and it seemed that the young girl was the only one who could ever be close to the icy teen. Being two years older, Aoshi had graduated high school two years before Misao and entered college; followed by her two years later. Campus rumors suggested they were an icon, perhaps because pretty Misao was the only girl icy Aoshi ever talked too -- even if the conversation was rather one-sided. Aoshi, of course, always denied such gossip. Perhaps the only person who knew was Himura Kenshin, a close, and overly-perceptive friend two years older than Aoshi. Kenshin always urged Aoshi to follow his heart and ask Misao out, but Aoshi always refused for reasons he never did explain.

What Aoshi knew, and what Misao and Kenshin didn't, was that Misao's father was in Japan acting as Okashira, and that, should anything happen to him, Shinomori, as a kodachi prodigy, whould probably have to take over as leader of the Oniwabanshuu. Knowing that a return to Japan was eminent, Aoshi refused to act on his emotions.

Misao's father died right after the start of Aoshi's senior year of college. They told everyone he'd been hit in a car accident; thus leaving the coffin closed for viewing before creamation, but Aoshi knew better: the Okashira had been shot. Something bad was going down in Japan, and he and the rest of the Oniwabanshuu would have to stop it. So he did his best to shove his feelings away into a secluded corner of his heart, becoming an excellent leader who earned the trust and love of his men through good decisions and wise action.

Misao was safe in New York, he told himself. And it was best that she move on and never get involved with the Oniwabanshuu, anyway.

It was better this way.

He stopped his practice as his ki-sensing abilities alerted him to Hannya's approach, turning to the masked man.

"Yes, Hannya?"

"Okashira." Greeted Hannya, with a bow of respect. Aoshi had much respect for Hannya, his right-hand man, a calm, solemn, and highly skilled illusionist whose face was so burned that he chose to wear a mask to hide the scars. "Kanryuu's men are on the move."

"Have we figured out what in the world it is they're after, Hannya?" Aoshi asked quietly.

"No, sir. Unfortunately, we haven't."

Aoshi sighed, dismissing Hannya as he headed back to the temple to prepare for the evening's mission. It looked like it would be a long night.

Kanryuu, a dirty and twisted meglomaniac who wished to blend the lines between East and West so much that they simply ceased to exist; the man was wealthy and prominent but most likely into every sort of crime. He'd made his money in the opium trade between the US and Japan, that much was sure, with a secret formula that made the development much easier. Of course, nobody could pin the sly trickster of his crimes, and his wealth had allowed him to buy his way up into a prominent position in the Japanese government -- a diplomat to America. He was after something that would increase his power tenfold, of that, Aoshi was certain.

But what it was, only Kanryuu and his thugs knew for sure.

***

Misao sipped calmly at her lemonade, listening to Okina chat with several of his close friends and fending off more than a few of her suitors by ignoring their attempts for conversation as she pretended to be a lively participant in Okina's discussion of recent media trends.

"And this new diplomat, Kanryuu. We keep trying to pin something on him but the guy's squeaky clean. They say he has ties to Opium, the arms trade, and the syndicate, but nobody can pin anything on him, and get this -- the Mayor _likes_ the guy."

"Do you think he's using his money to buy his way in?" Misao asked.

"I've considered it, my lovely Misao, but I've known the Mayor for a long time. Besides, Saitou would be all over any corruption in the system if he could find it."

"Oh yes. Saitou." Muttered Misao, with an expression of distaste. She hated the police chief with a passion, ever since he'd given her the nickname 'weasel girl.' 

"What were you saying, Weasel?" Sneered that irritatingly calm voice behind her and Misao twitched.

"Saitou. How nice of you to join us!" Misao said simply, with a cheerfulness she didn't feel. Years ago, she would have jumped all over him, yelled in his face, threatened to beat him up, despite the fact that 'The Wolf' was clearly a better swordsman. Today, however, she just wasn't in the mood. Saitou raised an eyebrow and helped himself to a seat with a smirk, elbowing aside one of Misao's lesser suitors. "Try not to crash the party," she added with a grin, "although I know it'll be hard on your anti-social nature."

"I'd like to talk to Okina in private, Weasel." Saitou said calmly. "I have no intention of staying at this dumb social gathering."

Misao wanted to strangle him, but Okina merely looked amused. "Surely, Saitou-san, you haven't fallen as far as to be checking the newspaper for leads. Usually we have to get them from you!" Teased the older man.

"I am here for the paper." Saitou admitted. "Among other things."

"Then you'll have to talk to both of us." Misao said simply, much to Saitou's irritation. "I'm Okina's lead journalist now that he doesn't travel. If you want anything done at all, I'll be the one who has to do it."

"Sorry, Weasel, but this is over your head." Saitou sneered, blinking when he found five Kunai embedded into the wall in a perfect circle around his head.

"Suggest that it's over my head again," murmured Misao calmly, like nothing had happened, "and you will lose yours."

"You missed." Saitou said simply, to which Misao returned a sweet smile, winking at the Wolf.

"Did I?"

"I didn't know you could fit daggers into that dress, Weasel." Replied Saitou finally.

"Well, then. If you two are done, let's go to my office." Okina said, breaking the silence as the young girl glared daggers at the stoic police-officer. If he didn't break them up, Misao would surely cause a scene. She retrieved her kunai and followed the two of them to Okina's office.

***

"I know, as a media expert, Okina, that you're familiar with Kanryuu as a new player on the New York Scene. And surely you're aware of the rumors." Explained Saitou, addressing Okina.

"Yeah, yeah. The guy's a drug lord and an arms dealer. What else is new?" Asked Misao, then suddenly she blinked and shot a big grin at the police officer. "Aww, what's the matter? Big tough police officer can't pin Kanryuu with his crimes? Poor baby."

"Kanryuu complained to the mayor that having our police investigate him was an inconvienence and poor hosting on the part of New York City. We're not allowed to shadow him anymore." Saitou replied, shooting Misao an icy glare as he lit up a cigarette. "The mayor is concerned that if Kanryuu is upset, he'll use his popularity against him in the next election. So our investigation has been closed."

"And you need a private party to investigate." Interrupted Okina. "Look, Saitou, I'd do it, but I'm not a young man anymore. I can't just go to Japan to hunt this guy down."

A thoughtful silence settled on the room.

"I'll do it." Misao said quietly.

"What?" Okina asked, sitting up in alarm. "No, Misao. You just got back from your trip."

"Look. Nobody else you have is good enough, fast enough, or trained enough if this guy is as dangerous as you say. If Ao--....the bottom line is, you don't have anyone else who can handle it. And neither does he." Misao said quickly, regretting even mentioning Aoshi's name. Saitou stared at her for a moment before acknowledging her offer with a sneer.

"Fine, Weasel. But if you get yourself killed it's not my problem."

"Get out of here, Saitou, before I make good on my threat."

_Lyrics featured in this chapter are "Think About Me" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Yeaah...*shrug* -glaube_


	2. Mark of the Oniwabanshuu

Family Buisness

by glaube

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if you do...could I borrow them? *waves sign that says "will write for Aoshi"*

**Setting:** 1932-33, New York, America & Various Places, Japan. A reviewer was kind enough to notate my, well, apathy towards the timeline, so allow me to explain why I was reluctant to peg the 1920's or 1940's: in the 1920's, America was isolationist, and wouldn't have had much go-between involving Japan. In the 1940's, Japan had a different government. So, for this "type" of era, roughly 1933 is the best year -- America and Japan will still be trading and attempting to keep peace, but Japan's government will be eyeing a lot of expansion; so money and power will, of course, be crucial. Also, America's starting to get the depression under control, because Roosevelt's been elected. Misao and her gang are all gainfully employed by the most successful newspaper, and because the war in Europe is going on, Newspapers are becoming more successful. I hope this clears things up. Better, Aiteane? That should help the settings issues. Thanks. ^_^

**Summary:** AU, 1930's, Aoshi + Misao. Misao, a successful reporter in America, hasn't seen Aoshi for five years. But when she starts investigating Kanryuu for the New York Police, she finds herself in the middle of a tangle of power, wealth, and ancient ninja clans in Japan. Will they meet again?

**Chapter 2: Mark of the Oniwabanshuu**

Shinomori Aoshi and several Oniwabanshuu sat silently in the woods, watching Kanryuu's men loudly approach the old dojo. Fools with guns, he had decided, watching their advance, although he didn't really understand what they were doing approaching the grounds of what had once been the honorable Kamiya Kasshin Ryu dojo; now more of a library of martial arts texts. He knew Kanryuu had visited it before, but to what purpose? And now they were going to break in? How ridiculous. He gave the signal to Hannya and together the two of them advanced behind the row of thugs, silent, stealthy, deadly. Kanryuu's men split up, the four of them apparently deciding to surround the school, and that's when the Oniwabanshuu went into action. 

First there were four. Then three. Then two. Then one. Aoshi had ordered no killings so while the rest of the ninjas tied up the three unconscious buddies of the apparent ring-leader, Aoshi circled around him with catlike grace and agility, a Kodachi point pressed against the man's neck. They had been smart enough to mask themselves out for the mission; the lower half of his face covered by a traditional ninja wrap. Ice blue eyes glared out at the would be thief.

"what does Kanryuu want from the Kamiya school?" Aoshi asked coldly. The man made no reply, and the tip of the kodachi pressed harder, drawing blood, presenting a dangerous reality. "Do not think that I won't kill you, or your friends. I have no qualms about destroying evil."

"H...He wanted one of the ancient texts..."

"Why?"

"Th..the succession technique."

Aoshi's eyes narrowed. Kanryuu, interested in succession technique? He doubted the fool could even wield a sword, much less perfect it. He himself had mastered his own technique, but his right hand man, Hannya, had not finished the final moves; and Misao had not learned them, either. So Kanryuu ever being able to put such things to use was out of the question.

"Why?" He asked, watching the idiot tremble.

"There's some sword...or something...with the right techniques it is said that the wielder is rendered invincible."

Aoshi blinked. Invincible. Interesting .. an arms dealer with the ability to dodge or even deflect bullets was a dangerous possibility. Still, he was surprised Kanryuu chased after such a fairytale, despite the man's insane greed. There were few legendary blades left in Japan; for example, the set he carried had belonged to a young Okashira back in the Meiji. And there were rumours of a reverse-blade katana wielded for reform and justice back in the same era. But for the most part, the strength came from the wielder, and their ability to channel ki through a blade. Puzzling.

"A sword." He said flatly, obviously not convinced.

"L..look. He says it changes. That it's never been beaten. But it's been lost...and...he wants it."

"Your Kanryuu is a fool. And I have a message for him."

The kodachi moved quickly, several angry flashes, before Aoshi hit the man in the back of the head with his kodachi's handle. There, left imbedded into his cheek, was the mark of Oniwabanshuu.

"Tie him up. We're leaving."

Hannya had nodded and quickly obeyed his request.

"Yes, Okashira."

Later that night he sat outside the temple, watching the fireflies drift lazily through the evening air, and thought about Misao.

***

Misao leaned against the railing of the ship, watching the busy port of Tokyo draw closer and closer, eyes fixed on the blue waters that reminded her of something else that was blue...Aoshi's eyes. They were a beautiful sea-blue, and most of the time, seemed to have the same sort of calm that was so natural to an ocean in times of smooth sailing. She knew, or, should she say, had known him well enough to recognize them when they weren't calm; like a storm at sea, flaring up in his eyes with barely restrained rage. When he was angry, Misao always thought of sea storms, the power of crashing tidal waves. Nothing else on his face ever seemed to change, but the pretty reporter could always read his eyes.

Her voyage had not been the safest, nor was she convinced that the boat housed the most reputable people. Several wealthy German-Americans were travelling onboard to Tokyo, and an uneasy hush seemed to settle whenever she went below deck to the dining hall. So she spent most of her time on deck, in the open air. Many of the other passengers were afraid of being stopped by warring vessels on the seas, but as far as interference went, the voyage was actually completely safe. Like the calm before a storm.

It had stormed a few days and Misao had braved the weather as often as she felt capable, hating the feeling of being holed up inside her tiny room below deck. It had gotten her a bit of a cold, but now, pulling into the port of Tokyo, she felt fine.

She watched the islands slowly crawl nearer and headed downstairs to gather her things. Stepping inside her small room she glanced around with a feeling of unease; having the distinct impression that someone had been there. Upon inspecting her suitcase, Misao could have sworn that it looked like someone had gone through her things and taken extreme care to place them almost perfectly back in place. Odd. Very odd indeed.

Setting aside her feelings of unease, Misao opened her bag and pulled out the letter from Saitou.

_You will be recieved by one of my contacts, Sagara Sanosuke. He will be expecting you, Weasel. Sagara used to be a gangster, Zanza, and will have many underground contacts that you may find useful. However, as such, do not expect refined mannerisms. You will not receive them._

And Weasel...don't get killed.

She scowled, folding the letter and placing it in her pocket. The ship's horn blew, announcing their arrival to port.

***

Sagara Sanosuke leaned against a post of the dock, the image of a tall and lanky boy who'd suddenly found himself a man and didn't know what to do. In an age where men wore their hair neat, combed, swept back, and impeccable, Sanosuke's spiked rebelliously, held back by a red ribbon he insisted on wearing in memory of his mentor, who had died in the Great War. He wore western style slacks and shoes, but his jacket was definitely Japanese and more traditional; white, with a large black kanji embroidered into the back. Nobody could mistake Zanza, for such was his mark.

After Sagara's death, Sanosuke had taken up with some unsavory characters, earning repute as the gangster Zanza. It was as Zanza that he'd had his first run-in with the Wolf, that irritating policeman who refused to use a gun. It hadn't failed him yet. At any rate, Sano had cleaned up his act, in as much as could be expected from the lanky youth, and became one of Saitou's most important contacts in Japan. He had gotten a wire from the other man discussing the arrival of one Makimachi Misao, referred to by the wolf as Weasel. Sano himself wasn't too sure what he was going to think of this Misao lady -- why in the world was Saitou sending a woman to do a man's work? 

Ah. There was the ship. His questions would surely be answered soon. He watched the passengers file down,and the first woman he saw was a beautiful Japanese-American speaking smoothly to a couple of foreigners in a language he didn't recognize, but that he suspected was German. With long black hair and stunning brown eyes that seemed almost maroon, along with pale skin and a beautiful complexion, surely this was the woman Saitou had spoken of. Although he didn't think of a weasel.

No, he thought she looked more like a fox.

Straightening his jacket, for Sano was always eager to make a good impression on the ladies, he hurried over to the trio.

"Excuse me. Makimachi-san?" He asked, shooting her a charming grin.

The fox turned to him with an expression of both confusion and mild irritation.

"No, I am Takani Megumi." She said calmly. 

"Figures. You're way too beautiful to have been sent by.."

"Excuse me?" She interrupted, apparently irritated by Sano's frankness.

"Ah. Forgive me fox, but I must go."

"FOX?! WHO ARE YOU CALLING FOX...?! STUPID....STUPID....ROOSTER!" She yelled after him, and Sano turned around to shoot the pretty lady a wink.

"Ah! Fiesty! I like my women like that."

For a moment it looked like Sagara Sanosuke's life would end right then and there, but one of the foreigners turned to Megumi, speaking in awkward Japanese.

"Ah.. Miss Megumi-san. We must go. Kanryuu will be waiting."

And as Sano walked away he could have sworn he heard her give a soft sigh.

"Yes. Kanryuu."

Distracting him from that was a sharp tug on his sleeve, and he looked down at a short, tomboyish looking girl. Ah. It made sense now.

"Weasel?" He asked, forgetting to use Makimachi's real name.

"Ooooh, that bastard Saitou! I'm going to kill him!"

"Ah, ah. Calm down weasel, no use getting upset when the wolf's a hemisphere away."

"Shut up...rooster-head."

And Sano could only chuckle at his newly acquired nickname.

***

A week had passed, during which time Misao discovered that few Japanese had respect for American tomboys; so she'd changed her attire from the Western slacks to to more traditional Japanese clothing -- never a kimono, or the irritating Western skirts with fancy blouses, but the training gear a martial arts student might wear in a dojo. It kept people from underestimating her as well; the young lady who could have passed for a ninja once you really began to understand just how lithe and agile 'The Weasel' really was.

Sagara had grown on her, although the Rooster's lazy attitude could still be highly irritating, but so far, their efforts had been fruitless. Misao had not met anyone who could introduce her to Kanryuu, nor had she discovered any critical holes in his organization.

"If it really is him," Sano had explained one day, "Then the reason why he's so successful is because of the formula he's gotten for the opium. I supsect our best bet would be to find the doctor. He's probably paying the guy really well, and with a little cajoling, we could get him to abandon the organization and turn Kanryuu in. But I can't find anyone who knows where the formula came from."

"What about arms dealing?" She had asked. Sano shrugged.

"Also clean. The only arms he sells openly are the ones going to the Japanese army for expansion right now, so all of his shipments appear legit. But his weapons are finding their way into the black market."

It was so frustrating. The bastard was obviously a crook but whether or not he'd ever face justice was questionable. Misao paused at her questioning of Sagara, staring at a stranger headed down the street, his head bowed a little.

But to her, the mark on his cheek was unmistakeable.

Oniwabanshuu. Impossible. The clan of her ancestors didn't exist anymore, everyone knew that.

"Hey! You! Come back here!" She yelled, taking off after him, much to Sano's confusion. The man turned around to catch a glimpse of the young female chasing after him, braid lifting on the breeze, and took off running. Misao heard Sano's yell of confusion, but didn't stop -- her instincts said that catching this man was crucial, and she listened to her instincts. Finally, he seemed to run out of breath, slowing to a stop in a dark alley before whirling to face her, a small pistol in hand.

"This is the end of the line, miss."

Well that was cheap. Misao had forgotten, when dealing with arms dealers, one must always expect them to have arms. Looks like the Wolf would get the last laugh, afterall. Suddenly her eyes lit up with a brilliant grin, as a boyish voice sounded off behind the man.

"Drop it." Was Sanosuke's comments, two fingers pressed against the man's jacket like himself had a gun. "And kick it over to the lovely lady, or I'll shoot." He growled, fingers pressing deeper into the goon's back. Instantly he did as asked, and Sanosuke whirled the man around, landing a solid punch on the guy's jaw, smiling in satisfaction when Kanryuu's man spit out a tooth.

"Don't you know it's not nice to point a gun at a lady?" He asked with a grin, waving his hands to reveal that he had not actually had a weapon at all. "In Western Poker, they call that a bluff."

Misao picked up the gun at her feet, emptying the rounds while pulling out a kunai. She pointed it threateningly at the man Sano now had pinned effectively against the wall of the alley.

"Who gave you that mark?"

"Oniwabanshuu." He snarled, furious that he'd been outwitted.

"Try again, dumbass. The Oniwabanshuu don't exist." She snarled, glaring at him. "Who gave you that mark?!"

Sanosuke's grip on the goon lessened, and he let the man slide down the wall to the ground.

"...Actually, Weasel... Come on. Let's go. I'll explain on the way."

__


	3. Pleasantly Clouded Judgement

Family Buisness

by glaube

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if you do...could I borrow them? *waves sign that says "will write for Aoshi"*

**Setting:** 1932-33, New York, America & Various Places, Japan. A reviewer was kind enough to notate my, well, apathy towards the timeline, so allow me to explain why I was reluctant to peg the 1920's or 1940's: in the 1920's, America was isolationist, and wouldn't have had much go-between involving Japan. In the 1940's, Japan had a different government. So, for this "type" of era, roughly 1933 is the best year -- America and Japan will still be trading and attempting to keep peace, but Japan's government will be eyeing a lot of expansion; so money and power will, of course, be crucial. Also, America's starting to get the depression under control, because Roosevelt's been elected. Misao and her gang are all gainfully employed by the most successful newspaper, and because the war in Europe is going on, Newspapers are becoming more successful. I hope this clears things up. Better, Aiteane? That should help the settings issues. Thanks. ^_^

**Summary:** AU, 1930's, Aoshi + Misao. Misao, a successful reporter in America, hasn't seen Aoshi for five years. But when she starts investigating Kanryuu for the New York Police, she finds herself in the middle of a tangle of power, wealth, and ancient ninja clans in Japan. Will they meet again?

**Chapter 3: Pleasantly Clouded Judgement**

She'd had to take Sano out for food, but eventually Misao and Sano sat together eating in a restaurant called the Akabeko, near the back. It seemed that Sano had friends here, as he did everywhere else, so getting a private booth was easy for the lanky gangster.

"You're going to tell me why I didn't pummel that guy in the alley." Misao said simply, staring over at her spiky-haired companion. "I've fed you. No excuses now."

"Hai.." Murmured Sano, who let out a belch, much to Misao's dusgust, as he leaned back and stretched. It seemed that Zanza was trying to pick a starting point for his story. "Alright, Weasel. You say you're a descendant of the Oniwabanshuu, right?"

"Yes." Misao muttered impatiently, waiting for him to get to the point. "Ninjas during the Meiji. The style's been passed down, but Okina lives in New York."

"That doesn't mean that they merely ceased to exist. A clan as strong as the Oniwabanshuu will stay together unless ordered otherwise by an extremely strong leader. Even then, most Okashiras would allow a unanimous choice to be made by the group members -- many say that the ONiwabanshuu is like a family and has those bonds between its members. I'm surprised you don't know more about them, Misao-san."

"And why is that?" Misao asked, curiosity peaked.

"Because your father was the last Okashira. And Okina-san before him."

Her chopsticks hovered in stunned surprise above her plate.

***

The palm of Kanryuu's hand connected sharply with Megumi's cheek. "You stupid whore! What do you mean, the shipment will have to be delayed?!"

"I mean your goons overheated my lab." Megumi said coldly. "If you're going to force me to work for you the least you could do is provide intelligent personnel."

Kanryuu's eyes narrowed, the crazed and greed-driven slits filled with anger as he stared at the pretty woman before him.

"Megumi-san." Murmured Kanryuu, dangerously. "I am sure you are aware of what the money from this shipment is going towards."

"Yes."

"And you are aware of what I will do to you if you fail?"

An incline of her head, a sad sigh of surrender. "Yes."

"Good."

She turned to go, and Kanryuu smirked. "I suggest you stay, m'dear. You still owe me for your failure and your commentary." When Megumi froze, Kanryuu stepped closer, his hands sliding over her slender shoulders as he leered down at the slender woman. "Remember, Megumi. I own you."

"If you want your money on time," Megumi murmured, "I suggest you let me get back to work."

***

"That's impossible. My father died in a car accident and Okina runs a newspaper in New York."

"No, Weasel. Your father was murdered. So was my mentor, whose name I've taken for my purposes -- Sagara Sanosuke. I was there."

Chopsticks fell out of slender hands, landing on her plate with a clink. Sano, assuming Misao's full attention now, went on with his story.

"Look. Everyone who knows anything about the underground knows that Kanryuu's up to no good. He's probably the one behind your father's death as well as Sagara's. Saitou's been after him for amost four years now; ever since he became an ambassador to the embassy in New York. But the Oniwabanshuu...ever since the Meiji, they've been thorns in the side of anyone who wants to gain power through money and bloodshed. And interestingly enough, they do it using the opposite methods of politicians driven by greed: they've won with integrity and by the sword. If Kanryuu can't beat them on those fronts then he's going to go down like all the rest."

"Who is the Okashira now?" Misao asked quietly. "I'd like to meet them."

"I'll see what I can do. No promises, Weasel. You might be a descendant but they still keep their identity secret."

***

"No." Aoshi said flatly, later that evening, much to Sanosuke's surprise.

"Come on, Shinomori! You'd be a fool not to meet this girl. She's related to the last two Okashiras and she can fight."

"I'm aware of Misao's skills." Murmured Aoshi coldly. "I'm the one who trained her."

"Then you should also know that she's not going to take no for an answer, Shinomori. I told her about her father."

Something in Aoshi's eyes became fierce and deadly; and Sagara Sanosuke found himself pushed against the wall with amazing speed.

"You WHAT?! Saitou told me you were STUPID but I never believed HOW MUCH!" Snarled Aoshi. "Do you REALIZE how much DANGER you're putting her in?!"

Sano waited for Aoshi to let him down and dusted off the edges of his jacket, smirking at the ninja. "Oh, I get it. Shinomori's got a thing for the little lady."

Aoshi stared at him coldly. "I do .not. have a .thing." Said the Okashira, with a tone of voice that none of his men would ever have doubted.

"Whatever you say, Shinomori. Shall I tell her I saw you?" Sano teased with his infamous cocky grin. Aoshi's eyes narrowed.

"You may tell her to be at the temple tomorrow. She will not see any of us. She must be willing to accept that."

Sano smiled. "Fair enough. Later, Icicle."

***

And that's how Misao found herself at an old temple about an hour away from Tokyo the next day at dawn. In the middle of the main hall was a single scarf, blue.

"Blindfold yourself." Came an unfamiliar voice from the rafters. "Do it."

"Why?!" Misao asked, exasperated.

"The Oniwabanshuu at all times protects the identity of its members. You will do this, or you will die."

Misao rolled her eyes, yanked up the scarf, and tied it on. 

"Happy?!" She snarled, in the general direction of the voice. It made no reply, and Misao became aware of several steps in her direction. She assumed a fighting stance, although she couldn't see.

***

God. She was still beautiful.

Aoshi had known that it had been a bad idea to let Sano bring Misao ever since he said it, but in a moment of weakness, he'd let his feelings for the young reporter cloud his judgement.

Now, that judgement was out the window again, even though her most alluring feature -- wide, honest eyes, was thankfully covered by the scarf. How long had it been? Five years and a couple of days?

Ice blue eyes settled on smooth, rosy lips, and Aoshi couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had kissed her. Or touched the braid that fell down her back. He almost did, but then Misao took up a fighting stance and he couldn't restrain his amusement. That was his Misao. Ready to defend herself at a moment's notice.

"I have no intention of harming you, Makimachi-san." Aoshi murmured coldly; hoping that his Japanese would throw her off.

"I want to know why Okina lied to me about my father."

"Because you would have insisted on inheriting his position and you were not ready?"

"And someone else was?!" She yelled. "I can fight! I could've led. Damnit, I was entitled to know."

Aoshi was silent, pacing in a slow circle around the blindfolded figure in the middle of the dojo. "Makimachi, I'm going to be honest. I don't know why you're here. But you need to leave. The Oniwabanshuu has every intention of handling Kanryuu."

"Saitou didn't seem to think so."

"The Wolf is a paranoid fool. I want you out of Tokyo in a week."

"I refuse."

"You will be given no choice." Aoshi replied smoothly. He could feel, as well as see, Misao's anger surge up, preparing himself for the temper-tantrum that surely would've been typical of a younger Misao. 

"Then I will fight you for my right to make that choice." Came the voice of this new Misao, the confident one, the beautiful woman who stood in front of him. Her hands moved faster than he could stop them; the knot of the scarf coming untied, the blue ribbon falling to her feet.

And for the first time in five years, their eyes met.

"...Aoshi."

***

Aoshi had given Sano his word that Misao would be escorted back to Tokyo when her meeting with the Oniwabanshuu was over; so Sano had gone back to town alone, wandering the streets in that lazy, confident style of his. The brunette's stride came to an abrupt halt when something very short and very slender crashed into him as he rounded a corner. Surprised, Sano reached out in instinct to steady whatever it was; and came face to face with Megumi.

"We meet again, Fox." He drawled, although his smirk disappeared when he noticed the stains of tears marring the beautiful, pale woman's face.

"Get out of my way, Rooster."

"The name's Sagara Sanosuke. Why are you crying?"

It was the first time in years that anyone had showed genuine concern for Megumi, but she was smart enough to know that doing so would probably get Sano in trouble, or killed...probably killed.

"Get out of my way, Sagara."

"I'll walk you to wherever you're headed, Fox."

"I don't want your help, Rooster."

"Too bad. I'm a stubborn asshole." Teased Sanosuke, and to his surprise, Megumi bit back a sob.

***

To Misao's credit, she didn't faint, sob, shriek, or scream, which were all options Aoshi had prepared himself for as soon as the scarf fell to the ground. Instead she seemed to bonelessly sink into him, her pretty forehead falling against his chest, hands clenched into small fists, lightly beating into him. When he finally got her to stop, Misao's words were muffled somewhat by his jacket.

"Why...?"

"I didn't want you involved in this." Aoshi said quietly, and Misao's eyes narrowed angrily.

"What, Shinomori?! Afraid I couldn't handle it?! Ditch me in America only to Ditch me again in Japan?!"

Aoshi cringed and shook his head. "No." He said icily. "Afraid I couldn't handle it. Look, the Oniwabanshuu is a family buisness--"

"Yeah. It is. MY family buisness." Misao pointed out.

"You haven't mastered the technique." Aoshi replied smoothly. "And Okina wanted you to finish college. If I could have stayed I would have. But instead I gave up all my dreams in New York and came here so I could lead these men against Kanryuu. In case you haven't noticed, Misao, the world's going to war. I'm doing all I can to stop any extra bloodshed."

Misao stared up at him, falling stubbornly silent. After a moment she chose to speak, apparently having gained control of her confusion and her anger. "Do you know what he wants?"

"Yes. I don't know exactly what it is, but I spoke to the people running the Kamiya dojo, and it appears he's interested in some sort of super-sword and succession technique to eliminate his competition."

"And the Oniwabanshuu. Apparently he doesn't like them much, either."

"He doesn't like things that get in his way. The Oniwbanshuu are in his way." Aoshi replied, truthfully enough. "So are you."

"I'm not leaving." Misao replied stubbornly enough. "You're not going to stay here and die trying to play big brother; I'm not your little sister and I'm tired of being treated like one."

She was surprised when Aoshi's hands gripped her shoulders firmly; intense blue eyes meeting her own.

"Makimachi Misao, I have **never** thought of you as a little sister."

"Then what do you think of me, Shinomori Aoshi?" Quipped Misao back, her eyes narrowing. "Obviously not much if you don't even bother writing a girl a letter in five ---"

But she was cut off by a low growl from Aoshi. "You're so damn frustrating." He interrupted fiercly, before the Okashira's lips captured her own, not bothering to let Misao make her own vitriolic reply or even finish her sentence.

In the back of the room, Hannya clapped.

"About bloody time; I certainly was getting bored listening to you argue."   
  
  
  
_review! You know you want to. Sorry for the long update delay._


	4. Beauty on the Fire

Family Buisness

by glaube

Guys. Help. I don't understand quite what's going on but ch. 3 doesn't ever show up right for me, and if it's not showing up right for you, the story's not going to make any sense. I was out of town so I didn't notice until I started working on chapter 4...please, if you've encountered this problem, tell me how to fix it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if you do...could I borrow them? *waves sign that says "will write for Aoshi"*

**Setting:** 1932-33, New York, America & Various Places, Japan. A reviewer was kind enough to notate my, well, apathy towards the timeline, so allow me to explain why I was reluctant to peg the 1920's or 1940's: in the 1920's, America was isolationist, and wouldn't have had much go-between involving Japan. In the 1940's, Japan had a different government. So, for this "type" of era, roughly 1933 is the best year -- America and Japan will still be trading and attempting to keep peace, but Japan's government will be eyeing a lot of expansion; so money and power will, of course, be crucial. Also, America's starting to get the depression under control, because Roosevelt's been elected. Misao and her gang are all gainfully employed by the most successful newspaper, and because the war in Europe is going on, Newspapers are becoming more successful. I hope this clears things up. Better, Aiteane? That should help the settings issues. Thanks. ^_^

**Summary:** AU, 1930's, Aoshi + Misao. Misao, a successful reporter in America, hasn't seen Aoshi for five years. But when she starts investigating Kanryuu for the New York Police, she finds herself in the middle of a tangle of power, wealth, and ancient ninja clans in Japan. Will they meet again?

**Chapter 4: Beauty on the Fire**

For all Aoshi's intensity, the kiss with Misao was surprisingly chaste and unexpectedly gentle; a sweet brush of the lips that all parties, Hannya included, had been awaiting for a long time. Backing away and leaving Misao in stunned silence, Aoshi turned away from her, fixing an icy gaze on the masked ninja nearby.

"Hannya, you are dismissed. As are the others. Prepare transportation back to Tokyo. Makimachi-san will be leaving shortly."

Something abuot the look in Aoshi's eyes told Hannya not to argue, although he shot his leader a look full of questions before turning away with an abrupt, but still respectful, bow.

***

Sagara Sanosuke stared down at Megumi as she bit back a sob, slender shoulders shaking, and instantly his teasing expression softened as he drew her into a comforting embrace. The gesture seemed to only undo the pretty young woman further, and soon her tears had soaked through his jacket.

"Come on, fox. Tell me what's wrong."

Murmured the ex-gangster warmly, wondering exactly what it was about this beautiful woman that could infuriate him at one moment and have him infatuated at the next.

"Leave me alone, Rooster." Megumi warned, voice muffled by his chest. She made no move to leave, however, and Sano decided to test his luck once again. He'd always been something of a gambler.

"Megitsune; you know you can trust me. Come on.." He pleaded quietly, and something inside Megumi seemed to snap. She pushed him away with a rough shove, eyes still overflowing with tears.

"But can you trust ME, Sagara Sanosuke?!" She demanded, before taking off in a run. "Can you?!"

As the pretty woman fled down the crowded streets she did her best to convince herself it was better this way.

Takani Megumi, daughter of a famous doctor, had everything going for her at a young age -- having mastered German and English as well as her own native language of Japanese, with an acceptance to schools in Berlin as well as New York to study medicine of her own. These dreams, of course, fell through the drain when the great war broke out in Europe. Her father's investments in America crashed with the depression, and he took up working for Kanryuu as a way to support his family, developing a secret opium formula.

When he found out that the new opium formula was more fatal and twice as addictive, Takani-san refused to make it anymore. It was a choice that resulted in his death.

Kanryuu presented Megumi with a choice: either she would perish too, or she would supply him with the opium until someone else would make it at which point he would send her off to college. He made it very clear, however, that should he ever need a favor, she was _his._

And that is how Takani Megumi sold her soul to the devil.

***

Misao placed two fingers to her lips in stunned silence, staring at Aoshi. She'd had foolish school-girl dreams ever since before high school about such an occurance but had never thought the stoic older man would ever consider her as anything more than a little sister.

His instructions to Hannya, however, snapped her out of her reverie.

"I'm not going, Aoshi."

"Misao..."

"No, Aoshi! You listen to me! This guy is dangerous! You can't bring him down with vigilante justice. He has to face the courts."

"He's bought out the courts, Misao. He's putting New York in his pocket. You know that." Aoshi replied coldly, turning to face the pretty young reporter, logic firmly in place and judgement restored.

"I want to stay with you." Murmured Misao after a moment, and once again, Aoshi's eyes drifted over her feminine features. With a reluctant sigh he drew the shorter woman closer to him, smiling somewhat as Misao's fingers fisted in the fabric of his gi.

"I wish you could, Misao." Admitted Aoshi quietly. "But you can't. He'll use you against me."

"I can defend myself!" She protested, staring up at him, and Aoshi could feel his resolve start to cave.

"Misao. He'll hurt you. And he'll use you to hurt me. I cannot allow that." Pleaded Aoshi solemnly. "Please. Go."

The happiness he had seen after their kiss was gone; and she slipped out of their embrace, gone like a leaf floating by on the breeze. As Aoshi watched her walk out of the temple, he could've sworn he saw a single, solitary tear sliding down her smooth cheek, and he wondered why things had to be so hard.

***

Sano sat sometime later in the akebeko nursing a bottle of sake and pondering over the mystery that was Takani Megumi, replaying the few times he had seen her over again in his mind. Her words rang in his memory.

_"Can you trust me, Sagara Sanosuke?! Can you?!"_

He wasn't sure. But he wanted to.

Another sip of sake, and Sano rewound his memories, thinking back to that first day on the docks. She'd been speaking in German. He was sure of it now; it was the only language that required that throaty sort of lilt. And what was it that the other gentleman had said?

His bottle of sake came crashing down to the table with a sudden realization.

"Kanryuu."

He had to find Shinomori and Misao. Sanosuke thought he just might have the link they all needed.   
  
  
  
_I wish I knew what was wrong with the third chapter T_T. Keep reviewing guys; I should be writing you notes in Chappy 5!_


	5. Getting the Ball Rolling

Family Buisness

by glaube 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...if you do...could I borrow them? waves sign that says "will write for Aoshi" 

**Setting:** 1932-33, New York, America & Various Places, Japan. A reviewer was kind enough to notate my, well, apathy towards the timeline, so allow me to explain why I was reluctant to peg the 1920's or 1940's: in the 1920's, America was isolationist, and wouldn't have had much go-between involving Japan. In the 1940's, Japan had a different government. So, for this "type" of era, roughly 1933 is the best year -- America and Japan will still be trading and attempting to keep peace, but Japan's government will be eyeing a lot of expansion; so money and power will, of course, be crucial. Also, America's starting to get the depression under control, because Roosevelt's been elected. Misao and her gang are all gainfully employed by the most successful newspaper, and because the war in Europe is going on, Newspapers are becoming more successful. I hope this clears things up. Better, Aiteane? That should help the settings issues. Thanks. 

**Summary:** AU, 1930's, Aoshi Misao. Misao, a successful reporter in America, hasn't seen Aoshi for five years. But when she starts investigating Kanryuu for the New York Police, she finds herself in the middle of a tangle of power, wealth, and ancient ninja clans in Japan. Will they meet again? 

**Chapter 5: Getting the Ball Rolling**

Hannya had accompanied Misao back to her hotel in Tokyo, the ride uncomfortably silent inside of the beaten Western car that just didn't seem to fit in Japan's beautiful scenery. Behind his mask, it was difficult to tell what the ninja was thinking, but when Misao stepped out of the car, a striped arm reached out to pull her to a halt. 

"Makimachi-san." 

"What, Hannya?" Misao asked quietly. She felt stretched thin, weak and weary like a sheet of paper pulled from all sides. 

"You are a descendent of the Oniwabanshuu. A daughter of great Okashiras. I knew your father -- to give up and cry is uncharacteristic of the entire Makimachi clan. You're all too stubborn for that." 

A weak smile lit Misao's face briefly. "You knew my Father." 

"Yes." Hannya murmured, nodding. "I did. And he was a noble man. I will be all too happy to see Kanryuu die to avenge his death." 

Misao nodded. "Thank you, Hannya-san." 

Was that a smile behind the mask? It was hard to tell. 

"And one more thing, Makimachi-san." 

"Yes?" 

"You're like a treasure to Aoshi, kept close to his heart. He loves you. I am sure of it." 

And before Misao could ask how he was so sure, the vehicle sped off, Hannya's arm raised in a farewell greeting. 

Sanosuke watched the weasel walk back into her hotel room from where he leaned against the wall in the shadows. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed dangerously, and he found a kunai embedded into the wall by his head. 

"COME OUT!" She snarled, in a tone that could only mean he was going to get his ass kicked in less than two seconds if he didn't come up for a decent reason to be in her room. 

"Relax, Weasel. It's just me." 

"Rooster..." growled Misao warningly, but Sano shot the weasel a disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's wrong, Sano?" 

Damn, but she could read people well. It must be part of the reason why Makimachi was such a great reporter, Sano decided, beginning to understand why the Wolf might have allowed such a tiny woman to come to Japan with such a big task. 

"Nothing." Sano lied firmly, smile widening into a lazy grin. "I think I know someone who can fill in all our missing links." 

"EH?! Who?!" 

"Ah. The fox. My friends tell me her name is Takani Megumi, daughter of a famous doctor." 

"So what's she got to do with Kanryuu?" 

"I think she might be making his opium. But not by choice." Sano murmured, defending Megumi's personality quickly. "He's got to have something on her that makes her work for him. When she's not busy she runs a little clinic in the bad part of town. I figure you and I can drop in, and maybe your beloved ice-cube can join us." 

Misao's temper flared. "AOSHI-SAMA IS NOT AN ICE CUBE!!!" 

"Eh? Well what is he, then? Emotionally challenged?" 

It was late, and Megumi Takani bravely fought of sleep as she watched over a young woman in her clinic -- a prostitute who'd come up ill and had nowhere else to go. She was surprised to hear the sound of three sets of feet. 

"Yes?" Murmured the doctor politely, spinning quickly, and blinking in surprise at what she saw. 

"Sano! Get out of here!" Snapped the fox, ignoring the two newcomers whom she didn't know -- the tall, stoic man, and his short, female companion. 

"I believe you have things backwards." Sano murmured with a grin. "You mean, Sano! Get _me_ out of here!" The rooster ignored the way Megumi was frantically shaking her head, taking several steps forward before he tilted her chin up, one finger pressed to her lips to silence any protest. 

"Once upon a time, I was the gangster Zanza. I work for New York's Wolf. And I've brought the Oniwabanshuu. We're going to get you out of his clutches, Megumi. We're going to bring him down. I don't care if you don't think I should trust you. The question is...are you willing to trust me?" 

Aoshi stood stoically watching the exchange, arms crossed impatiently. 

"Look, Takani-san. We don't have all day." 

A reluctant nod from Megumi, and as they escorted the doctor out of the clinic and into the car, speeding off into the night, Misao realized there was no turning back. 

"Where's his next move?" Aoshi asked the pretty doctor calmly. 

"New York." 

"What's he looking for?" 

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu." Megumi replied, in the quiet, scared, and flat tone of a person terrified that they've just made a mistake that could cost them their life. Much to her surprise, Aoshi began to laugh, and Misao stared over at him in surprise. The weasel hadn't heard Shinomori's laughter in many long years; and it warmed her heart to see his smile. 

"I'm sorry, Takani-san. I find that rather amusing. You see...I know the current Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. And he's worked for the CIA ever since he graduated from high school." 

Megumi stared over at the ninja leader, visible relief spreading across her features. Sano squeezed her hand with a grin. 

"See, Megitsune? We're going to protect you. I'll take you to the wolf. And nobody messes with him." 

"That's because nobody gets along with him." Misao snapped, obviously not pleased at the prospect of seeing Saitou again anytime soon. 

"Eh! She'll do just fine. Megitsune's a _fox._" Sano murmured, and the pretty doctor glared at him. 

"I'd watch your words, Rooster." 

"You know you like it, Megitsune." 

Aoshi and Misao's eyes met in a bemused glance as the ragtag group of heroes returned to Oniwabanshuu headquarters.   
  
_OMG...Finals...Killer....weeps...._ Reviewers:  
Aiteane: Thanks for making me clarify the setting; unfortunately, I'm not sure you've seen the change, but I hope it works for you.  
Indigochipmunk: Glad you approve. And uh...I think chipmunks are cool.  
Western Ink: wow! A favorite! I hope I can keep things up to par so that you'll continue to enjoy this fic.  
amber eyes: Yeah. I was on a ski trip and the only thing on TV was the movie about _The Phantom_ ...made sometime in the 90's...it's not that great of a movie, but somewhat entertaining. This doesn't follow that exact plotline but it has a similar setting.  
Kakashi-fan: I'm coming out with the chapters as soon as I can...stupid school. xX Thanks so much for your kind reviews and support! I really appreciate it!  
Tenken no Miko: I usually don't have time to review other's works, so I rarely get returned reviews like a lot of people do. Either that or I suxxor. shrugs  
spirit demon: don't worry, I thought it would suck too. shrugs  
len: typing as fast as school allows. grimace lol  
fallen wings: mee tooo! A/M in the hizzle fo shizzle. K/K and S/M are alright, but I HEART Aoshi.   
Ochaneko: Another favorite! This makes glaube VERY HAPPY! Thank you so much!  
spirit: mucho gracias! Thanks for your kind review.  
stroh-brie-21: I gotta ask. What's that alias mean? Anyway, thanks for the review. I really appreciate it.  
jade eyed neko: Thanks for your reviews and your support. I really appreciate it. 

Until next time, assuming finals don't kill me! -glaube out.


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